Monarchia Daemonum
by LVDB
Summary: Lelouch discovers that he's not the only psychopath with supernatural powers and a messianic complex. A Geass / Death Note fusion.
1. Prologue 1: Lelouch

**Prologue: Lelouch**

I was expelled from the royal family at ten years old and lived as a political hostage for the next seven. After an encounter with an immortal witch, I acquired a mind-control eye and started a terrorist movement. In the ensuing months, I battled giant robots, princes, misguided peace activists, telepaths, more giant robots, and a perverted class president.

And then, on November fifth, my life got weird.

I was reorganizing my personnel files at the time. Hardly glamorous, but 90% of a rebellion is paperwork and planning. The pictures loaded slowly, beginning as amorphous pixilated blobs that morphed into faces just as my eyes blurred. The white background made me squint. I tapped "enter".

_Only six-thousand-seven-hundred-and-fifty-three to go…_

A TV droned in the background with father's latest address—the same Social Darwinist slop I'd heard _ad infinitum_ before I left Britannia and far too often thereafter. I rubbed my eyes. Little bits of sand had already formed on the lids.

"Lelouch."

"Don't bother—"

"_Now_."

I swiveled my chair around and prepared to give C.C. a death glare that wouldn't work, but would make me feel slightly better.

Then I saw the television.

Father's body had curled over the podium. Sweat glinted on his forehead, reflecting light from the stage lamps above him. He clutched his chest. The microphone caught his heavy panting and amplified it as he leaned closer, until the breaths sounded like someone hammering sheet metal. My father vomited. News cameras flashed to capture the moment for posterity. Father's hands clutched at the podium in a vain attempt to hold his thick, fat body upright…

…And then Charles zi Britannia--the 98th Emperor, _Ard-Ri_, King of Kings, Father of His Country, Defender of the Faith--slumped. The crowd screamed. C.C. crunched a potato chip.

The camera jerked back and forth as two voices argued over what to do. One wanted to shut the program off. The other—

The camera stopped moving. It was pointing at the ground, so I didn't see the events that triggered the panicked exodus from the hall; but I could hear the footfalls. Someone righted the camera again. Perhaps he was one of the two men I'd heard arguing. More likely he was one of the endless line of nobodies who've collectively recorded most of human history.

And what a scene he captured.

Odysseus was sprawled on the floor. Guinevere lay a short distance from him. She still had her rose tattoo, and I reflected how strange it was that I'd noticed it after all those years. Royal guards scampered from body to body like confused ants, as if looking busy would bring back the dead.

The Knights of Rounds scanned the ceilings. They pivoted. They swished their capes. They pointed their pistols at nothing in particular and made wild arm motions that looked vaguely like "evacuate". In short, they did all the pointless things that Britannian knights do when they have no idea what they're up against. Schneizel stood against the far wall, staring at the wreckage.

The channel blacked out.

"Uh…what…?" I said.

"I concur," said C.C.

* * *

_**Delivered to the Britannian News Network Building, 2017 a.t.b.**_

_You were warned._

_It should be clear by now that Britannia's security services cannot protect the royal family from my judgments. For now, I will be satisfied if you stop censoring reports of my activities in the news media. More instructions will follow._

_If you attempt to track me down, I will erase every inbred one of you._

_--KIRA_


	2. Prologue 2: Light

**Prologue: Light**

The shinigami grunted and crammed another apple into his mouth. His sharp, irregular teeth tore the fruit rather than grinding it, and his lips were too thin to catch the juices that dribbled down his chin. He'd suspended himself sideways in the air, legs crossed. One or two strands of his shock of hair fell askew. When he wiped them back, the juice from his fingers stuck them to his forehead.

I sat at my computer. It was an old Britannian model from the late 90's a.t.b; boxy, offwhite, and probably imported, since its manual still contained instructions in Japanese. The TV had already gone dark.

I was still panting. Names grinned at me from the Death Note, written in the Carolingian miniscule that Elevens had been taught before Clovis "downsized" the educational system:

CHARLES ZI BRITANNIA

ODYSSEUS EU BRITANNIA

GUINEVERE SU BRITANNIA

CARLINE LE BRITANNIA

…and for good measure:

BISMARCK WALDSTEIN

GINO WEINBERG

ANYA ALSTREIM

It had only lasted for a few seconds, but the Knights of Rounds' frantic gun-waving had stopped when the first of their comrades went down. Many stole glances at the exits. Kururugi didn't move at all; his eyes had remained fixed on Anya's body.

Poetry. Pure poetry.

The bare light bulb flickered above me. Ryuk tossed his apple onto the cracked linoleum and dove into the refrigerator. His expression soured when he saw its contents: ramen soup, a jar of tapwater that I'd filtered enough to remove the largest bits of dirt, and an apple that had rotted during Shinjuku's week-long blackout.

Ryuk bit it anyway. A moment later, he spat a brown, soggy glob onto my floor.

As I wiped up the mess and glared at him, the power went out. The afterimage of the BNN's first "Kira" report lingered on the screen for a long time afterward. I burned it into my memory.

"So now what?" Ryuk said.

I leaned back in my chair and opened my "safe"--a locked drawer with seventeen Britannian pounds and Dad's old police manuals. I grabbed my worker's permit from between the pages and flicked it idly between my fingers.

"In the _short_ term, I'll keep killing minor criminals and allow the news media to spread the good word. In a few _weeks_, I'm going to order the Britannian state to start broadcasting lists of targets through the BNN—"

"I was referring to the apples," said Ryuk.


	3. Chapter 1: Lelouch

**Chapter 1: Lelouch**

The killings began in earnest a week later. Every night, the BNN delivered "Kira" a new list of victims. Every morning, it dutifully reported a job well done. Diethard was having the time of his life.

The murders seemed aimless–a random collection of criminals, bureaucrats, and public figures.

Note that I said "seemed".

The curse and gift of the Britannian royal family lies in its ability to spot patterns. Night after night, I watched the stream of names and faces that would become tomorrow's obituaries. Most died from heart attacks like my father, although a few were more creative. A woman from the Public Affairs Committee doused herself in gasoline and lit a match. Baron Oxbridge–the man who'd brought Refrain to Japan–dug his own grave before shooting himself. A gamekeeper found a note on the inside of Oxbridge's dinner jacket. It asked whoever found the note to shovel dirt over the body "owing to my current incapacity".

Someone had a curious sense of humor.

I cast my net more widely when Rakshata gave me access to Britannia's civil service files. The death toll seemed high, but not high enough to arouse suspicion. They were dying quietly. No heart attacks. No spectacular soundbytes. These guys sloughed off their mortal coils with your everyday distribution of car crashes, illnesses, and suicides.

I got suspicious. If Kira was responsible for the deaths, he was making sure that they fit a nice, neat distribution.

Bingo.

The Britannian Civil Service didn't release its statistics, but the Japanese "Native Administrative Service"--which collaborated with the Britannians--did. A match. Unfortunately for Kira, the NAS's statistics looked nothing like the Britannian Civil Service's.

So...Kira didn't have access to government records. Was Kira Japanese? Perhaps. Then again, it might be an elaborate ruse. More importantly, though, this meant that Kira was _editing _the bureaucracy. I teased the data a bit more until I found--

"You'll go cross-eyed if you keep staring at the computer like that."

"Stop bothering me, witch."

"And you wonder why you're still a virgin."

...Ahem...I found a common thread: Kira didn't kill people who'd openly supported Schneizel on the BNN. The turnover rate was just small enough that you wouldn't notice unless you were already looking. Fortunately, I'm naturally suspicious. Most of my surviving relatives had probably noticed the same thing.

Suddenly, I realized where I could find out more.

* * *

"Sister, dear, I've come for a job."

Euphie beamed. Cornelia's jaw nearly hit the floor. The Viceregal office was smaller than it had looked on TV--no more than ten meters on each wall. My reflection smiled back at me from Cornelia's mahogany tabletop. I had recognized it immediately: the 1896 W. J. Bryan Surrender Table, complete with Rhodes' inkstain that clung to the red leather on its right edge. Cornelia must have nabbed it from Dad's collection after he keeled over.

"You're–"

"Dead?" I said. "Not exactly. 'On extended vacation' might be more accurate, although the vacation in question occurred because Father used me as a political hostage..."

Euphie's hands were clasped in front of her white dress. Her eyes sparkled like a pair of highly polished dinner plates, only larger. Cornelia's eye twitched. Suzaku watched us with a knowing grin, like a father who's watching his children unwrap Christmas gifts. At last, Cornelia shook off the shock and stood up, holding her arms out. She hovered halfway between hugging me and shaking me like a ragdoll.

Cliche? I'm afraid so. But a good actor works with the material he's given. Besides, "bewildered family discovereth the lost kinsman" is a fun scene to play. It has plenty of opportunities for improvisation:

"So anyway...Who wants to talk about the Schneizel-Kira connection?" I said.

Cornelia stopped. Her arms hung in midair for a good twenty seconds.

* * *

Everyone has masks.

"What are you up to, Lelouch?"

I set my teacup down. The saucer clinked.

"You seemed pretty enthusiastic back there..."

"That was for Cornelia's benefit," Euphie said. "What did you expect? That I'd scream 'Seize him! He's Zero' at the top of my lungs?"

"Mmm...that would have been awkward."

Euphie's eyes narrowed as she lifted the teapot and poured me another cup. She set it down _exactly _on the indentation it had formed on the tablecloth.

"I'll ask again," she said. "What are you up to?"

I rested the prong of my fork on the table and spun it a few times. Euphie waited.

"Would you believe that I've developed a sense of civic responsibility?" I said.

"No," she said.

"That I've turned over a new–"

"No."

"How about–"

"No."

"You didn't let me finish!"

"You get a little smirk on the right side of your face when you lie," she said.

Euphie leaned back and crossed her arms while my hands involuntarily shot my face. Gods...she reminded me of Nunnally sometimes. Time for another approach. I sighed and pretended to slouch.

"Okay," I said. "I'm not going to give up my identity as Zero. Yet. But now that Dad's dead and Schneizel might have killed him, there's hope for reform. Think about it, Euphie: the Special Administrative Zone pales in comparison to this."

Euphie's gaze fell to the floor. She shook her head.

"Liar," she said.

"Euphie, that's not--"

"You're trying to figure out Kira's methods because you want to use them yourself," she said. "You're looking for a weapon."

Euphemia looked up, daring me to contradict her. I didn't. She reached for her tea. Missed. The cup clattered against the plate and tipped over. A brown puddle crept across the tablecloth. Euphie inhaled sharply.

"I won't tell Cornelia," she said at last. "This is much more serious than the Black Knights."

I shifted in my seat and muttered something about artists and terrorists not being appreciated in their own lifetimes. Euphie wasn't amused.

"I'm serious," she said. "Father was always accountable to somebody–"

I started to protest. She raised her hand and cut me off.

"He _was _accountable, Lelouch. I know you hated him, but Father couldn't just wake up one morning and execute whoever he wanted. Kira can."

I smirked and dropped a cube of sugar into my cup.

"Well, well...you've become _quite _the politician, Euphie."

"I always was," she replied. "I also happen to be a very good actress."

In the seconds that followed, I rapidly reconsidered Euphie's actions over the past few months. Suzaku...her behavior during the hostage crisis...the Special Administrative Zone...her artless naivete that always struck _just _the right note...

"Er...what...I mean--." I said. "So all this time–?"

Euphie's hands balled into fists.

"Not anymore," she said. "The time for games is over."


	4. Chapter 2: Light

**Chapter 2: Light**

Working for the Native Administrative Service had its advantages...and not just the obvious ones. Oh, sure; it gave me access to some police records and more news than your average Japanese–sorry, Eleven–could see on BNN. Useful bonuses, all things considered, but bonuses nonetheless. Come to think about it, the worst thing about the job was that it only employed me part-time.

Admittedly, building didn't look like much. The sign out front said "Shinjuku N.A.S.", but the chipped concrete and plastic coverings on the windows said something else: "filthy Elevens work here", as clearly as if the Britannians had written it themselves. The water system malfunctioned at least once a week. The air conditioning didn't work. Every so often, the police found one of my coworkers in a dumpster courtesy of Zero's "justice".

No matter. I detested most of them anyway. Like me, they came from the "lost generation"–the golden children who would have graduated into the top ranks of the civil service if Britannia hadn't dynamited the University of Tokyo and illegalized higher education. They trudged through their paperwork, slurped their coffee, and went home. These people didn't administrate; they played paint-by-numbers with government forms.

Their loss.

Picture yourself in my shoes. For the first eleven years of your life, you study the garbage that the Japanese government called education:

_A hypothetical ball drops from a hypothetical hill and–hypothetically–doesn't encounter air resistance. When does it reach terminal velocity? How did Oda Nobunaga win battles with weapons that became obsolete three hundred years ago? Oh, and when you're finished with that, here's a collection of self-pitying garbage from five centuries of neurotics. It's called literature. Read it._

You see what I mean.

Fortunately, the Britannians invaded in '10 and vastly simplified my life. Dad left his position as a police chief, joined the army, and got a bullet in the head for his troubles. He left behind a wife, a daughter, and a talented son without any prospects.

Old fool.

Clovis's structural adjustment policies ate up our savings overnight. When Clovis destroyed the educational system for good measure, I took odd jobs wherever I could find them. Janitorial work, house painting, that sort of thing. Hated every minute of it.

And then I discovered the NAS, and something that the Britannians call "Social Control Studies". See, they didn't care if I knew calculus or the name of Yoshida Kenko's favorite cat. They wanted to understand the Elevens. So we did a little bit of everything: statistics collection, political rallies, public relations. I learned quickly. This wasn't a prewar civil service job. The Britannians took their right to rule for granted, and blatantly manipulated people.

Slowly, I came to understand a fact that my Britannian supervisors didn't: _We _controlled the connection between Britannia and the Elevens. _We _knew which buttons to push. And if Suzaku Kururugi could rise through Britannia's ranks, _so could I_.

After the Death Note appeared, I realized that I could do even more.

* * *

Ten A.M. in central Tokyo. Thursday. Britannian teenagers congregated near crosswalks, while twentysomething professional women clopped along the concrete in high heels. They clutched their purses as I passed. Idiots. No Eleven in his right mind would rob a Britannian in the middle of "their" city. I stuck my hands in the pockets of my paint-stained trousers and did my best to shuffle.

Ryuk snickered.

"Not too popular with the ladies, are ya Light?"

I wove my way through the crowd as quickly as possible–"excuse me's" for the Britannians, jostling for the endless herds of Eleven workers. A newscaster on the giant screen at the intersection blasted us with the latest news.

To my right, a fight broke out between an old man and another Eleven who looked like a construction worker. The younger guy suddenly exploded. He shook the old man by his ragged collar and shouted "stop bothering me" before delivering a blow to the head. There was blood. The police dragged them both off.

"Disgusting," I muttered.

The mailbox screeched when I opened its slot and dropped a small package into it. A gift. Ryuk scratched his head.

"It's for the BNN," I said.

"Why?"

"Because the NAS is investigating former Eleven television producers and journalists."

Ryuk picked his gums until he'd pried a piece of apple from between his molars. He swallowed it.

"I'm not following," he said.

I sighed. Ryuk's questions often tested my ability to speak without moving my lips. Not to mention my patience.

"It's obvious," I said. "Britannia thinks that the Black Knights have help from someone with a background in the media."

"Ohhhh....huh?"

"What if that 'someone' isn't an Eleven at all?" I said. "What if Zero has a pipeline to the BNN?"

"Er...okay. But what if he doesn't?" Ryuk said.

I shrugged.

"Then my public service message will go off without a hitch."

* * *

Ten P.M. in central Tokyo. Sunday. Neon lights painted the buildings hot pink and yellow. Girls from the Shinjuku ghetto plied their trade on street corners. Even in the darkness, you could pick them out from their cheap perfume and miniskirts. In a different world, they would have been attending college. Now, they were exploiting their remaining years of beauty before the ghetto ground them into premature middle age. Fat, balding men prodded them with wads of cash-- Britannian tourists sampling the local goods...and why not? Britannia looked upon prostitution with the same permissiveness that it granted to every other capitalist enterprise.

For now.

The traffic honked so loudly that I could barely hear the news on the big screen. I read the subtitles:

LINDSAY, BACK TO YOU.

THANK YOU, JOHN. AND NOW, WE'RE BRINGING YOU LIVE TO TOKYO TOWER, WHERE KIRA HAS DEMANDED THAT WE READ HIS LATEST SET OF DEMANDS...

I held my breath. The screen flickered. My patience was rewarded.

"Good evening."

Like magic, the shouts and horns stopped. On the screen, Zero was seated like a government minister about to address the nation–--right down to the steepled fingers. Tohdoh loomed behind his high-backed chair. The Four Holy Swords fanned out on either side. White lamps shone down on them in a replay of their first appearance as "knights for justice".

Ha.

Zero leaned back and tossed a tape from one hand to the other.

"I'm afraid that Kira's latest message is a bit..._tedious_," he said. "Let me condense it. He wants to destroy the Black Knights and asks you–the people of Japan, the rightful possessors of this nation–to turn me in."

The Man of Miracles smashed his fist on the table.

"Two can play at that game," he said.

My shoulders convulsed with suppressed laughter. This was _perfect_

"Kira has revealed himself as a Britannian puppet," Zero said. "If you want an explanation for these 'mysterious' murders, look no further than Schneizel's rise to the throne and his connections with the Pinkerton Branch of the Britannian secret police. And to prove it, I'm going to duplicate Kira's so-called 'miracles' tonight."

"Ooh," Ryuk said. "Busted."

"Quiet "

Zero stood up. The camera panned out so that the audience could see his gestures in every exquisite detail. He didn't disappoint; he twirled his hand and pulled back his sleeve, revealing a wristwatch.

I started writing.

"At exactly 10:05, twelve members of the Britannian Parliament will die from heart attacks," Zero said. "Like Kira's victims, their bodies will show no signs of...ahem..._tampering_. Unlike Kira, however, I'll tell you right now that it's just regular terrorism. A trick. Not magic. Not some–"

Kyoshiro Tohdoh clutched his heart and collapsed across the desk. As Chiba Nagisa screamed, the Black Knights crowded around the body and blocked Zero from view. How embarrassing.

Then Asahina dropped...

Then Urabe...

Senba...

Chiba's eyes widened.

_That's ri-i-i-ight_, I thought.

The look on her face was priceless when her heart stopped beating. She slumped over Tohdoh. The extra weight was too much, and their bodies slid off the desk together. Shouts. Screams. _Panic_. And that was nothing compared to the pandemonium that broke out in central Tokyo when the Britannian crowd realized what had happened.

The picture wavered and went dark. Ryuk chuckled.

"Kudos, kid," he said.

Five of Zero's staff in thirty-two seconds. Not a bad night's work.

"You know something, Ryuk?"

"Eh?'

"I could really use a coffee."


	5. Chapter 3: Lelouch

**Chapter 3: Lelouch**

Five murders. All perfectly timed. All committed under the Black Knights' noses, despite a security system that had kept us safe from Britannia for almost a year. Nearly a hundred lower-ranking members of our organization had also died within an hour of the broadcast.

_HOW?!_

Poison? No. What else was there? Geass? The son of a bitch had upstaged me during my own performance, and that...Well, I concede that I was somewhat irritated.

"You look somewhat irritated," C.C. said.

"Well aren't _you _observant."

C.C. shrugged and went back to her smutty novel. A shirtless, long-haired man grinned at me from the cover.

_Okay_, I thought. _Run through it again_...

Item One: Kira supported Schneizel for reasons I couldn't understand.

Item Two: He—or she---might be Japanese.

Item Three: He'd ordered the Britannians to televise names and faces of 'criminals' to kill, which meant that he—or she—wasn't worried that the BNN would simply broadcast names of Enemies of the State. Why not?

Mmmm...

Kira might have worked for the Britannian government in some capacity. N.A.S., probably. Honorary Britannian? Possibly. And Kira disapproved of terrorism, if the murder of five of my best subordinates was any indication. Come to think of it, Kira had considerably reduced my pool of prewar Japanese military advisers...

Wait. Backtrack.

_Names. Faces. The JLF. A connection. A very, very weird connection._

"C.C., how many of my subordinates wore masks?"

She ignored me. Her yellow eyes remained fixed on her book.

"C.C.?"

No answer.

"Ahem," I said. "Lord Fitzwalter dumps Miranda and marries her sister. They move to Ireland and make lots of Regency-era babies. Now pay attention."

C.C. tossed the book behind the couch and glared at me.

"Bastard," she muttered.

"How many of my accomplices appeared in publicly available photographs without masks?" I said.

C.C.'s eyebrow quirked upward.

"Aside from Tohdoh and the Four Holy Swords?" she said.

"Very good, C.C.," I said. "You're more perceptive than I give you credit for."

C.C. smiled sweetly back at me.

"And you're a condescending delinquent with a god complex. Be that as it may---" she added as I opened my mouth, "—I think you're on to something."

A few mouseclicks later, I'd brought up a list of Black Knights who'd suffered heart attacks in the last twenty four hours. I cycled through victim after clean-shaven, buzz-cut victim. Former J.L.F., all of them. C.C. leaned her chin on my shoulder as the faces flashed by.

"You're going too quickly," she said. "I'm not a speed-reader."

I restrained myself to clicking 'down' every seven seconds. Then ten seconds. Then fifteen.

"Now it's too slow," she said.

"Then stop breathing on me."

She tilted her face toward mine, head still resting on my shoulder. Her chin felt a little like one of those metal massage balls as it rubbed across my collarbone.

"Distracted?" she said.

"Yes."

"Too bad."

Another thought occurred to me: if Kira worked for the N.A.S., the Six Houses of Kyoto were in danger.

"Contact Kaguya and Taizo," I said. "Tell them to reduce recruitment from the Native Administrative Service to a bare minimum...."

She sighed. I felt her breath on the back of my ear.

"...And _stop _that," I added.

C.C. rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she said. "So what will you be doing while I'm in Kyoto?"

I considered my wardrobe options. Brown leather jacket? Too informal. Student's uniform, complete with gold filigree? Too commonplace. Besides, it reeked of adolescence. My gaze lingered lovingly over the jeweled-white-robe-and-pillow-hat combination that I kept at the back of my closet.

No, better not. Even the Britannian royal family had limits. Maybe when I was Emperor, though...

"Add some epaulettes....er....I mean, I'm going to test a theory," I said. "I need to meet with Cornelia at the Viceregal palace. But before I go, I need to ask—"

"It's not geass," C.C. said. "At least, I seriously doubt it."

Finally, a straight answer. As I slipped into my student uniform (life is a series of small compromises) I made a mental note to order C.C. extra pizza.

"Lelouch?"

"What?"

"Be careful," she said.

We traded smirks and pretended that it had been a joke. I did what I could to repay the gesture.

"About your book..." I said.

C.C. crossed her arms and did her best to loom over me. Since I was sitting in a chair, she met with moderate success.

"More spoilers?" she said.

"Actually, I made the spoilers up," I said. "For all I know, you're a paragraph away from the next sex scene."

"You've given my life renewed meaning."

"Happy reading, C.C."

* * *

Two days passed, and I got my answer. So far, the investigation had placed me in front of more screens—computer, television, and otherwise---than I cared to count. Chalk up another one:

* * *

_When I see the streets of Area Eleven, I see whores on street corners and Refrain pushers in the alleys. When I look at the boardrooms of Kirihara Industries and Frick Steel, I see whores and pushers in better suits. The subways reek of filth. The malls run with filth. Filth clings to the shutters of every Shinjuku window and flows from the doors of every government building from pole to pole. .._

_When I say filth, I refer to people. I hesitate to say "humans". I speak of rot. Corruption. I omit no one from this accusation; Britannian, Chinese, and European alike stand on the dock, and all are found wanting. _

_A great purge lies ahead.._.

* * *

Somebody hit pause. K-I-R-A in Gothic lettering and electronic fuzz vibrated not-quite-frozen against a white background. Fitting, really—a giant plasma TV in the center of my lair-slash-train, and I was watching VHS.

"Lelouch, you've already seen this a hundred times," Kaguya said. "You'll go blind if you keep this up."

My stomach lurched. On reflex, I lunged for my Zero mask.

"What are you doing here?! I gave orders not to be–"

"I already know you're Zero," she said.

"Who...?"

Kaguya flashed me a smile and flopped onto the couch beside me. Her skirts swished.

"Euphemia told me," she said. "I have feet in both camps, and she can contact me without arousing suspicion. Besides, she needed an inside girl to keep an eye on you, and figured I was mature enough to handle it. Unlike a certain knightmare pilot...."

I managed a stunned gurgle. Kaguya reached forward and patted me on the head. As she watched me expectantly, my natural paranoia resurfaced.

"And it doesn't _bother _you?" I said.

Her eyes acquired an odd twinkle, and I regretted my question immediately.

"You must be joking," she said. "In one day, I find out that Zero is _not only_ a cute eleventh grader, _not only_ a prince, _not only_ susceptible to marriage-by-blackmail now that I know his true identity..."

"I don't like where this is going," I said.

"...but he's a childhood friend!" she squealed. "I mean, how perfect is that? It's like the universe is on my side."

"But—"

Kaguya raised a finger and shook her head sagely.

"And I quote," she said. "'The first girl _always _wins.'"

"Not if Kira's after her," I said.

Kaguya's green eyes narrowed.

"Let him try it," she said.

I pressed play.

* * *

_The Six Houses of Kyoto await my pleasure. The scales tilt this way and that; a small misstep will scour them from history. And I may yet—_

* * *

Kaguya yanked out the cord. Checkmate.

"And I thought _you _talked too much," she said.

You should have seen her—fists clenched, standing straight as a rod, practically daring me to send her away. If I wasn't a seventeen-year-old guerrilla leader, I'd probably comment about how ridiculous it looked from a fourteen-year-old girl. As it was, I tried to let her down gently. For reasons far, far beyond my comprehension, I'd developed some affection for the little lunatic.

"Kaguya."

"What?"

"He only needs your name and face," I said.

"You don't know that," she said.

I tossed an envelope on the glass table. It slid until it bumped into the coasters.

"Yeah. I do."

Kaguya scanned each line. Flipped the page. Scanned. Stopped. Her jaw tightened.

"Did you forge this?" she said.

"Ask Euphie," I said.

"It's impossible!"

"Last night, the BNN broadcast the names of three hundred individuals," I said. "We switched the names of one pair. They survived. We misspelled the name of another man, and he also survived."

"Coincidence."

"We blurred the faces of two more people," I said. "Not much---just enough to look like a bad photograph. Only the first one died. Guess why."

Kaguya bit her lip. It was fascinating to watch her shoulders slump as reality kicked in.

"...Because once Kira had the name, he could look the face up," she said. "The man who survived didn't have a picture on the internet."

"Precisely."

"It's _impossible_," she repeated.

"I know," I said. "Now then....you'll lay low until I figure out what's happ---"

Kaguya's head snapped up.

"No."

"But—"

"_No!_" she said. "You've just proved that Kira poses a greater threat to my family, country, and species than Britannia ever could. If you think I'll stand aside now, you're insane."

I considered using geass, and then remembered a few complications. To wit: Euphie getting suspicious, Kaguya's position as head of a major political faction, the geass's inflexibility, memory issues, the fact that a geass could trigger unforeseeable behavior that might sign Kaguya's death warrant anyway...

...Oh, and a minor pang of conscience, for what it's worth. Which isn't much.

"Euphie chose her watchdog well," I said.

Kaguya beamed.

"I also tongue-kiss on the first date," she said.


	6. Chapter 4: Light

**Chapter 4: Light**

* * *

_Neither talent nor justice are Britannian monopolies. Britannia promises order and enforces subordination among its subject populations. I approve wholeheartedly. Sheep will always need masters. I do not, however, approve of Britannia's stance toward talented Numbers. These individuals can rule the masses just as competently as their Britannian counterparts. Hierarchy will remain a pillar of my new world, but prejudice--stupid prejudice that prevents talented people from exercising their natural right to rule--will not be tolerated. _

_Within three weeks, you will administer standardized tests in each of the Areas. The highest scorers will be integrated into the following schools:_

_Warwick High (Area 5)  
Chamberlain High School (Area 14)  
Burdett-Coutts Academy (Area 13)  
Chesterton College (Area 9)  
Duke of New Brunswick High School (Area 12)  
Winthrop Reform School for Troubled Boys of Good Family (Area 7)  
Ashford Academy (Area 11)_

_-- KIRA  
_

* * *

In my experience, plans never work out perfectly.

Take my first killings, for instance. I began with a simple goal: unite the world under one ruler, and then control that ruler. After I killed Charles spectacularly on national television, and Schneizel stepped into his shoes, I thought I'd scored a major victory. I liked Britannia's Second Prince. At least, I liked his public pronouncements, and if I'd guessed wrong, well…Charles had a few spare kids, didn't he? In any event, I never met the man, but Schneizel respected _order_. If I snapped my fingers and threatened anarchy, he'd heel quickly enough to preserve his precious status quo. A perfect emperor for my perfect world…

"Whatcha doing, kid?"

"Plotting," I said. "Or gloating. Little of both, really."

Ryuk gave me one of his unreadable stares—like a half-shark, half-rockstar trying to work out a joke and failing. I noticed for the first time that his oblong eyes resembled olives, with their irises as the pimentos. Really disgusting pimentos.

"You'll have to explain," he said.

"Oh?"

He chuckled. The sound came from the back of his throat, and sounded watery. I raised a coffee mug to my lips and scanned the room while my hand obscured my face.

"I'm at work, Ryuk…"

"Nobody's listening," he said. "And it's not entertaining when the audience can't follow the plot. If the audience gets bored…"

He let the threat hang. The coffee tasted of acorn and chicory. Like most Elevens, I made do with cheap substitutes. Thanks to another power outage, the liquid was also cold. I pretended to drink while I explained my plans for the future. I'd ordered the Britannian embassy to send the Chinese government a memo that explained my wishes. After a respectable interval, I'd killed half of the top eunuchs and let them draw their own conclusions. They did. Britannia broadcast the mission's "success" through agreed-upon codewords in an innocuous BNN report.

They also recommended a new target.

"Who?" Ryuk said.

I flicked a photograph that I'd propped between my keyboard's "QWERTY" and its row of numbers. The man in the picture wore his sleeves short and his hair long, and he pulled both off well. His bare arms didn't carry an ounce of fat. He had one of those long, thin faces where the skin seems stretched over the cheekbones. Not perfect, though: if you looked closely, you could see the remains of childhood pockmarks. China's health policies didn't keep pace with its rulers' rhetoric.

For now.

"The Loyal General," I said. "He's the sort of fool who'd protect his Empress with his life."

Ryuk graced me with a snaggle-toothed grin.

"And you'll make sure that he does _just_ that, won'tcha Light?"

I waved my finger.

"Ah-ah-ah, Ryuk. A magician doesn't reveal all of his secrets at once. But on that note…"

"Yeah?" he said.

"How do I transliterate 'Xingke'?"

* * *

Remember when I said that plans don't work out perfectly?

Case in point: Lelouch Lamperouge, a.k.a. _Prince_ Lelouch vi Britannia. He'd emerged from exile complete with a telegenic smile and an equally telegenic sob story about a tragic exile and a blind, dead sister. He was also my new boss.

"Good evening, gentlemen..."

Fifty Elevens in khaki uniforms clicked their heels and stuck their chests out like pigeons. I was among them. The lights maintained their high-pitched hum as Prince Lelouch-vi-Lamperouge-Britannia walked down our line with his hands behind his back. The floor squeaked as an Eleven boot scuffed it. Everyone fell silent and went rigid. Lelouch ignored the interruption, and also ignored the cough from the third rank that sent everyone into another state of near-panic. When he walked past me, I realized how _childlike_ he looked. Delicate. Waifish. It was as if he'd been designed around a pair of deep purple eyes, and his body had been added as an afterthought.

Lelouch stopped and turned on his heel. His hands remained behind his back.

"...As you all know, I _specifically_ requested control over the N.A.S. as soon as I revealed myself," he said. "We're going to catch Zero, gentlemen."

Even my co-workers' fear didn't suppress a wave of whispers. Lelouch tapped his foot and waited. The room fell silent.

"Why now, you ask?" he said. "Simple: Kira demands it. The Sword of Damocles--if you'll pardon the classical allusion--is swinging over my siblings' heads. And that, gentlemen, means that it's also swinging over _your_ heads. Bear that in mind."

Lelouch's eyes snapped to a man in the second row, who gulped. Chiba something-or-other: the resident firebrand and a first-class imbecile.

"Repeat that," Lelouch said.

"I...Your Majesty, if you--"

I can't explain how he did it, but Lelouch's eyes suddenly softened and became encouraging.

"Go on," he said. "Unlike most Britannians, I _expect_ my subordinates to ask questions."

"Well, sir..." Chiba said. "I don't see why we should help Kira. Shouldn't we be chasing him?"

Lelouch paced down the line. His shoes tapped on the yellowed linoleum.

"Let me revise my earlier statement," he said. "I expect my subordinates to ask_ intelligent _questions. We're not chasing Kira because he'd kill the lot of you if we tried it, myself included. Besides, Kira's..."

A tiny smile formed on the side of Lelouch's mouth. He shook his head as if he was clearing it, and the smile vanished.

"...well, let's just say that catching Zero will be a far greater public service," he finished.

Ryuk's head tilted to one side.

"Did he just--?"

"Possibly," I whispered.

A Kira _sympathizer_ from the royal family? Fate had been kind indeed...

A hundred half-baked schemes ran through my mind. Lelouch threw a massive wrench into all of them.

"We're changing our approach," he said. "Zero _claims_ that he isn't Japanese. I suspect that this is a ruse, and I've ordered our profilers at Pinkerton Branch to construct a profile based upon that assumption."

I blinked under the fluorescent lights.

"We're looking for a young man somewhere between his late teens and mid-20s," Lelouch said. "Highly intelligent. We suspect that he was ranked at or near the top of his class before Britannia abolished high school education for Elevens. Probably a loner. Idealistic, but not given to expressing his views openly. For that matter, he may work for the government as a cover."

Ryuk cackled.

"Oooh. He's got you _good!_"

I fought the urge to scowl. The Britannians must have concluded from my "integration" order that I was one of the Elevens who would benefit from it. I'd expected as much. I hadn't thought that this would be a problem, though. If the Britannians started looking for me, I'd just fricassee their Parliament via spontaneous human combustion until they stopped. But Lelouch--or whoever he was working for--had discovered a loophole. The Britannians couldn't investigate Kira directly, but they could look for people who matched Kira's profile as long as they pretended that they were looking for _Zero_. And if I killed Leouch, his relatives would know that they'd guessed correctly. The Britannians had turned my own anti-terrorist campaign against me.

Ryuk laughed intermittently for the rest of the day. I didn't buy him apples.

* * *

Rapid breathing and a cold sweat told me that I'd had another nightmare.

The pipes were dripping again. I became aware of a wet spot on my right arm. A few seconds later, I heard the _plits_ of water and began counting them. I stopped at seventeen, after I'd woken up a little more and realized how pointless the exercise was.

_What time...?_

I looked for the clock. A dark chasm stared back at me from the other side of the room. Great. Another blackout. I fumbled toward the nightstand where I kept my flashlight and watch.

"Not sleeping well?" Ryuk said.

I couldn't see him, but I felt the cold tingle on my shoulder that told me that he was hovering nearby.

"I'm fine," I said.

My hand bumped into something ceramic. It clinked, and pencils clattered on the desk. I felt around until I touched the plastic ridges of the flashlight switch. A face appeared.

"Boo," said Ryuk.

I jumped back and nearly upended the chair.

"Kinda skittish, aren'tcha?"

Much as I hated to admit it, Ryuk was right. Vigilantes looking for a piece of an "NAS collaborator" had become the least of my worries. At first, I'd ignored the rumors. They'd seemed crazy enough: invisible assassins, throats slashed in the night, red eyes in the windows. Just terrorists, I'd said. When someone slaughtered Minowa's family in broad daylight without breaking the locks, I'd shrugged. Good burglary; nothing more.

We'd discovered during the autopsy that someone had tortured them. That's when I got suspicious. Why take risks unless you're looking for information? The murderer wasn't trying to make an example of Minowa's family, since he'd avoided leaving marks. Or tried to.

I'd checked N.A.S. files and discovered similar deaths throughout Area Eleven. Most were similar to Minowa...and me. Altogether, fifty-seven young, upwardly mobile N.A.S. officers and their families had died under similar circumstances. Someone was looking for me.

Oh, and the malnutrition hadn't helped either.

"Yeah, Ryuk," I said. "Skittish."


	7. Chapter 5: L

**Chapter 5: L**

Karales smirked.

"Coincidence," he said.

A black plaque with gold lettering proclaimed 'Your Sub-Sub-Sub-Sub Viceroy is Listening' to the occupant of the chair in front of Karales' walnut desk. (Me.) Not a very _comfortable _chair, by the way--it barely stood a foot off the ground, which meant that I had to scrunch up like a bullfrog on a lily pad while the desk towered over me. Ironically, it also towered over him. It was a very large desk.

"Coincidence?" I said.

"Coincidence," he repeated.

I tapped my chin thoughtfully with my big toe.

"I see," I said. "So just for the record...You're arguing that a group of Greek sculptures that looked exactly like the Karales Marbles--but _weren't_--and which were purchased from an art smuggling ring with money from an account which we traced to _you_--doubtless a case of identity theft--and which were picked up by a man who looked exactly like..."

I sighed.

"...You know what?" I said. "Never mind."

I rolled out of the chair and closed the door behind me. The sound of metal clicking against metal came from room.

_Oh, right..._

I opened the door again and leaned inside. Karales was already fiddling with my briefcase.

"That won't help you, you know," I said. "It's filled with cookies."

Karales raised an eyebrow. I shrugged.

"I would've brought them in a bag and shared, but I thought a briefcase looked more official."

Karales paused for a moment and stroked his sideburns.

"Chocolate chip?" he said.

"Raisin."

"Curses."

* * *

"So that's it?" Mello spat. "Six months of work and we can't do _anything_?"

Mihael 'Mello' Keehl stood at the entrance to the kitchen--looking rather unlike his name--while Near lounged on the carpet. Mello drummed his fingers on the fake wood paneling. I opened my briefcase and tossed him a cookie. He eyed it suspiciously.

"Chocolate chip?" he said.

"Raisin."

Near poked his head through the ten-foot replica of the Eiffel Tower that he'd constructed from marshmallows and toothpicks. His shirtsleeves stretched several inches past his hands, and nearly tripped him up.

"Chocolate makes you snippy," he said.

Mello's lambskin gloves tightened. Their circular holes revealed whitened knuckles. Near stared back with an expression halfway between boredom and paralysis. I changed the subject before my vision of Near getting turned into a pinata solidified into reality.

Again.

"Karales obviously has connections that I didn't know about," I said. "He would have folded otherwise."

Mello drummed his fingers faster. I searched my drawer for the few remaining chocolate cherries while I waited for the inevitable response.

"So?" Mello said.

"So we don't have the resources to pursue it further," I said. "In case you...Aha! _There_ they are...In caishe...mmph...omsh...yoush haffn't notished...mmm....chocolate...."

Mello simmered while I licked the smears of chocolate from my fingers.

"Ahem," I said. "In case you haven't noticed, investigations require _money_. And unless you two are willing to give up your designer clothing and industrial-sized tubs of tinkertoys, I'm afraid we're going to--"

"Did someone mention money?"

Three heads turned. A girl stood in the doorway. She wore a trenchcoat and sunglasses, but the hem of her dress descended a few inches below the leather. From its lacy frills and pink sheen, I guessed that the entire thing looked vaguely like a birthday cake, but it was her equally pink hair that gave the game away. I motioned to Mello to pull out a chair. He started to protest until he saw Euphemia enter the lamplight. An audible gulp followed.

"Hello, Princess," I said.

She smiled and sat down. I hopped into the chair across from her.

"Trouble with Karales?" she said.

"Mmm...Cultural heritage repatriation," I said. "E.U.'s attached me to the art smuggling unit."

Her smile wavered slightly, probably for my benefit.

"Oh dear," she said. "I hope it isn't _too_ dull..."

"Just a consultant," I said.

"I see," she said.

"Mmm..."

A pause. Euphemia pushed an envelope across the table. The swish broke the silence.

"I want your help with the Kira case," she said. "Have you followed it?"

I'd expected as much, and answered in topical rather than chronological order: Yes, I'd followed it. The Kira case was the puzzle to end all puzzles; it evoked the blend of danger and insolubility that I'd always dreamed of. And no, I wouldn't help her.

Those doe eyes of hers widened. Well played, too; Euphemia didn't gape or add tears like most of her family would have. She never oversold her acting.

"But...why?" she said

I jabbed at the air with my finger.

"You _know _why," I said. "And my price hasn't changed."

When a beatific grin sprouted across Euphie's face, I realized that I'd violated a cardinal rule in negotiations: Never demand the bare minimum when your opponent is willing to give it to you on a silver platter.

"We released Quillsh Wammy this afternoon," she said.

_RELEASED?_

Then again, all the negotiating prowess in the world doesn't matter when your opponent gives you more than the _maximum_. I must have sat with my jaw on the floor for a good half-minute. Mello sprouted an idiotic grin. Near blinked. Once.  
_  
A pardon. Not a temporary stay of execution for subversion. A pardon! Hahahaha! A pardonapardonapardonapardona---_

"That's not all," Euphie said.

The Third Princess daintily piled twenty lifetimes' worth of Britannian bills onto the table. Mello's eyes widened.

"My contacts in the Treasury salvaged part of Wammy's assets," Euphemia said. "As I understand it, you're rather short on cash for your orphanage-in-exile."

She nodded toward Mello and Near.

"Are these...?"

"Yes," I said. "The rest are around here somewhere. I think."

Euphemia held out a hand to Mello.

"Pleased to meet you," she said.

Cue stammering. Euphemia looked around for Near, but he'd already retreated under the table.

"He doesn't do social stuff," I said.

"I see..."

Euphemia's chair creaked as she sat down again, crossing her hands over her chest. She'd shifted back to a polite semi-smile.

"So," she said. "Let's hear your assessment."

I shuffled through the envelope. Nothing new. Euphemia listened with a poker face that would have made Near proud while I touched on the major points: Kira would come to Ashford, and Lelouch's dual role as investigator and student allowed him to search for Kira at Ashford in both capacities. If possible, he should seem sympathetic to Kira's agenda.

"We all publicly support Kira," Euphie said. "We have no other choice."

Near's pale hand snatched the file and pulled it under the table. He sat cross-legged, twirling a lock of hair while he flipped through it. Mello asked to see it. Near ignored him.

"Lelouch should support Kira more vocally than the rest," I said.

Euphemia agreed.

That brought me to the second point: Kira's connection with Schneizel. If his profile rang true--and Kira _was_ a male; that much was obvious--Kira would use Schneizel to create his Utopia. Kanon Maldini's death in a car wreck the week before reinforced that conclusion. Kira was sending Schneizel a message to toe the line.

"I want security cameras all over Ashford," I said. "Near and Mello will enroll as students."

Euphie's nose wrinkled.

"I'd prefer--" she began.

"I can barely pass for a college student," I said. "High school's beyond me. Near and Mello will have to do, and besides, they already work under aliases. Since Kira apparently needs a name and a face to kill, they should be relatively safe."

"But their education--" .

"They'll pass any test that your professors put in front of them," I said.

"I don't think you understand," Euphie said. "Ashford has mandatory acting classes. And plays. And dances."

My reply died instantly as Near turned an interesting shade of green.

"Er...maybe Mello can take care of--"

"Near, you're going," I said.

Mello used the opportunity to grab the file and pull out a marker. A squeak and the smell of gasoline followed.

"Your Majesty?"

"Yes, ah...it's 'Mello', right?" Euphemia said.

Mello nodded. His hand twitched, but he stopped it short of tidying his hair--almost soon enough to escape detection. Almost. Euphemia had the grace to conceal her grin. Mello tapped the highlighted passage with his index finger.

"Kira will come to Ashford?" he said.

"Yes."

"Then begging your pardon, Majesty, but why not just blow it up? I mean, sure, a few Britannians'll die, but you'll eliminate a much bigger threat--"

"Zero's there too," Near said.

If this had been a typical dramatic moment, everyone in the room would have stopped talking and turned to Near. Unfortunately, Near was under the table. Much neck craning, chair-scooting, and bending followed.

"Why would you say that?" Euphemia said.

_Voice too calm_, I thought. _Controlled. Mmmmm...Worried, Princess?_

Near shrugged. His chin rested on his knees, so his answer came out in a mumble. It went something like this:

_First Premise:_ Zero had grown almost an inch since his first appearance on television.

_Second Premise:_ His growth appeared steady and consistent, aside from an odd blip when he shrank to 5'3" and developed wide hips.

_Sub-conclusion:_ Body doubles probably didn't account for Zero's height variation.

_Main conclusion:_ Zero was an adolescent.

Near looked up. A white circlet of hair spun faster and faster around his finger.

"Zero wants Kira as badly as we do," he said. "Zero's profile shows a strong tendency toward risky behavior, and Kira's murder method--whatever it is--would allow Zero to win the war against Britannia. Zero's age also fits perfectly. He'll enter Ashford along with the rest of the new class."

"That's...um, very clever, Near," Euphemia said.

Near smiled and pulled two figures from his pocket. The first sported a buck-toothed grin and a black mask that framed his eyes like a raccoon. Near had drawn a "K" on its chest with silver marker. The second was a lego piece covered with black sharpie marks. I raised an eyebrow.

"Short notice," he said. "I'll make a better one later."

"Ah..."

"In any event," Near said, "our investigation will kill two birds with one stone. While we chase Zero and Kira, they'll be chasing each other. And when we find one..."

"We'll find both," Euphemia whispered.

Near flicked both pieces into the wastebasket.

"Precisely."

Euphemia's fingers wriggled around each other until they formed a cradle.

_Yep_, I thought. _Definitely worried._


	8. Chapter 6: Lelouch

**Chapter 6: Lelouch**

"And you are…?"

The boy fussed with his hair as if he hadn't heard me. He wore it long—so long that it trailed at his feet. His eyes looked like mine, and I thought I could spot a family resemblance in the small, sharp vi Britannia nose and high cheekbones.

A relative, perhaps. That would explain how he managed to break into my private train…

"Hem," I said.

The boy looked up and gave me one of those oh-look-at-that-an-inconsequential-person-I've-just-noticed-for-the-first-time looks.

"Oh…Hello, Lelouch."

He stroked a strand of blond hair that stretched to his ankle. His eyes fell on my cape, and he smiled.

"…Or should I say 'Zero'?"

I suppressed a flutter in my stomach and sauntered to my mini-refrigerator.

"Can I get you anything?" I said. "Wine? Caviar?"

…_a barber?_

The boy smirked.

"You're not going to ask me who I am?" he said.

I shrugged and tossed some crackers and _pate de canard_ onto a plate.

"Thanks, but no thanks," I said. "I'll wait until _after _you're finished toying with me, if it's all the same to you."

"All right—"

The doorknob clicked, and I panicked for a quarter of a second until I realized that only one person had the key. My guest-slash-Rapunzel-look-alike hissed an order. Before I could blink, two red dots that looked like eyes flashed from a corner of the room. A girl's body thumped to the floor and the door slammed.

Kaguya groaned.

A boy stood over her. He was thin, brown-haired, and prominently displayed geass sigils in both eyes. He scowled as he watched Kaguya writhe.

The long-haired boy tapped his cheek. His expression reminded me of a child who's just found a candy cane.

"Rolo?" he said.

"Yes?"

"We have an unexpected loose end. Kill—"

"No!" I said.

The boy's grin widened.

"Oho," he said. "Struck a nerve, have we?"

"She's a valuable member of my operation," I said.

The boy daintily picked up a cracker between his thumb and forefinger. He smeared a smidgeon of _pate de canard _onto it and brought it to his lips. Sniffed.

"I won't kill her," he said. "Yet. Consider this an object lesson, Mr. Lamperouge. We can kill anyone in your operation at any time. Remember that."

The cracker snapped as he bit off a piece. He caught the crumbs on his plate. They plinked on the porcelain

"Now then," he said. "We've got the unpleasant stuff out of the way, so let's talk shop. We want to help you find Kira…"

* * *

Eunuchs swished and twittered in their yellow robes. Schneizel and Tianzi sat at opposite ends of the room. Ever the Britannian prince, Schneizel nibbled at roast beef and swirled his port. He raised his glass to Tianzi. One of her entourage nudged her, and she picked up her own glass and toasted back from half a football field away. I noted that she hadn't touched her birds' nest soup.

Britannian knights mingled with Chinese bureaucrats as an emperor and an empress prepared to fuse Manifest Destiny and the Middle Kingdom into a single xenophobic package. The Chinese half of the banquet hall oozed with gold and jade; ours replied with marble and rococo. A conspicuous gap had opened in Tianzi's entourage where Le Xingke had once stood. He wouldn't return. Champaign fizzed in my glass. I appraised the snacks—an old habit born from years of home cooking. Hundred-year-eggs rubbed shoulders with those little cheese cubes on toothpicks.

I love a good wedding.

"I ssshould be more ali—ali—alert," Suzaku mumbled. "I'm on ssssecuri—scurry—securee-heh. Funny Britannian word…"

I clapped him on the back and grinned.

"Oh come now, Kururugi. Enjoy yourself! What's there to worry about?"

"Yourrr – _hic!_ – yer wine's r-e-a-a-a-a-l-l-y sumthin'…" he said. "Thanksss fer giving me sommmmmme…heh…"

"Old vintage," I said. "Plus a few…er…preservatives."

I heard C.C.'s voice in my ear.

"Well?" she said.

"He's completely smashed," I said. "You can start anytime."

"You're sure?"

I was about to say 'yes' when Suzaku put his tongue down my throat, rendering further speculation irrelevant.

This was _not_ going as planned.

* * *

The crash from the domed ceiling took everyone (else) by surprise. Black knightmares swarmed through the opening. They drove upside-down along the dome like an impossibly good group of roller-bladers. Autocannons opened up. The cracks of gunfire bounced along the walls until I clapped my hands over my ears to escape the noise. Apparently, Schneizel's guards had failed to notice a force of knightmares converging on the palace.

Perhaps my "motivational speech" before the battle had contributed to that…

Suzaku took his tongue out of my mouth long enough to stick it out at our adversaries. While I sputtered and wiped my lips, he collapsed face-first into a plate of gorgonzola. C.C. said something. I couldn't make it out.

Gunfire shredded the few knightmare pilots who I hadn't geassed or drugged. Their vehicles remained dark, standing as silent spectators. A knightmare swooped over the Empress's pavilion. Its blade tore a hole through the ceiling. A metal claw swept a screaming, white-haired girl into a convenient backpack. Cameramen took cover, but their cameras were still rolling. Diethard would ensure that the chaos reached every Britannian home in high definition. Not to mention our broadcast in China...

_That's right, Kira_, I thought. _You don't know who my men are, and you can't kill the Empress because that would sour your precious alliance. I used your televised event against you…_

The buzzing in my ear intensified.

…_And now I have the Empress._

"Sorry, C.C.," I said. "Didn't catch that last part."

"Run."

I looked up. The Black Knights were funneling back through the hole in the ceiling again. In a moment, they'd be gone.

"No need," I said. "Quick smash-and-grab job. Nothing to—"

"_RUN!"_

"Eh?"

I heard the crash. I remember that much clearly. Something huge and shiny slammed into the wall next to me, and I saw rubble all around me. Pain shot through my chest. I couldn't breathe except in gasps. I found myself on my hands and knees, choking on a cloud of powdered cement. A voice boomed from an intercom a few feet from my head.

"Gotcha, you son of a bitch."

The air around my face heated up. A red blur towered over me. I absently wondered whether I had a concussion. My skin dried as if I was getting baked.

"Can't hear you," I mumbled. "Talking too loudly…"

"Have you ever seen a radiant wave surger up close, Britannian?"

I blinked. Stony grains rubbed against my eye, but my tear ducts couldn't produce enough fluid to flush them out. And what was that buzzing sound...?

"So after all that, you turn out to be a Britannian prince, huh?"

_Hm. Familiar voice. Um…? C.C.? Wait, no. She's Zero right now.. Er…I'm Zero. Or—Hm. Tohdoh? He's familiar. Um…dead, too. Not likely. Tired…_

"So long, Lelouch..."

_Suddenly hot in here…_

"Kallen?"

I heard an intake of breath, electronically amplified. I shook my head. A second surge of adrenaline came just in time. I rolled behind a column and crawled under one of the tables.

The wood cracked behind me. A shower of splinters flew forward, and a few of them scratched the back of my neck as they passed. I half-crawled, half-slinked a few yards ahead before something punched through the table inches from my head. Hot air blasted my face. I rolled aside.

* * *

_Death Note_

_Entry #4509_

_At 6:49:20 PM, Tokyo time, General Walter Bedwyr will stop cowering and realize that he's a former knightmare pilot. Bedwyr will mount the unoccupied knightmare frame at the far end of the room. __The pilot of the Guren Mk II will NOT notice, and will lower the Guren's shields in order to speak to Prince Lelouch in person. __Bedwyr will then tackle the Guren MkII…_

* * *

Daylight. I blinked. It didn't register with my semi-conscious mind at the time, but Kallen must have lifted the whole effing table. Thirty yards of Brazilian rosewood hurtled end-over-end into the wall. The crack almost drowned out the sound of gunfire.

And then, a scream of frustration.

The red blob disappeared from my vision as if someone had snicked it on the end of a fishing line. I heard a screech of tearing steel. A whirling purple-and-red ball clanged against the floor a few yards away.

* * *

…_General Bedwyr will then latch onto the Guren. At 6:50:13, he will detonate his own machine, killing himself and crippling the Guren Mk II. The terrorist inside will be unharmed, but helpless. _

_

* * *

_

White light. Noise. My body hit something that felt like a wall.

* * *

_P.S.: They published the guest list, you stupid bastard. How's THAT for improvisation? !_

_HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!_


End file.
